


the hero died, what's the movie for?

by Stormcursed



Category: Mistborn - Brandon Sanderson
Genre: Hurt No Comfort, I Wrote This While Listening to Hozier's Music, I mean it has The Final Empire spoilers but it is the first book of the series so...., I swear I'm like 1000x better writer in Spanish, M/M, Spoilers, this is a bad translation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-26 00:01:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30097167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stormcursed/pseuds/Stormcursed
Summary: To work with me, Kelsier had said,I only ask that you promise one thing — to trust meDockson is a practical man, a skilled tactician, and an enviable treasurer. But that's not enough to make Kelsier want to stay.
Relationships: Dockson/Kelsier (Mistborn)
Kudos: 2





	the hero died, what's the movie for?

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [the hero died, what's the movie for?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29914563) by [Stormcursed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stormcursed/pseuds/Stormcursed). 



> The Final Empire b r o k e me. That's the reason this fic exists. 
> 
> I finished the book two days ago, but I started it months ago so maybe there are some mistakes /universe-wise/. English is not my native language at all, so if you spot any grammar mistake, that's totally my fault!

Dockson is a practical man. He plans days, weeks, and even months in advance every time he's able to. He is organized; he owns more than one leather notebook (a luxury these days) full of lists and plans. His hands are always clean, and his clothes are of a nobleman, even though no one has ever taught him how to dress nicely. He looks out the window every day when he wakes up, still incredulous of his fate.

He doesn’t understand what he has done in his previous lives to deserve the luxury of tranquility. It is a half tranquility, yes; he has to juggle between Kelsier's ideas and what's plausible, and he still has to figure out how to make possible the crazy project Kelsier has to free the skaa and kill the Lord Ruler. But at the end of the day it is a peaceful life. It's even more if he compares it with his life in the plantations, surrounded by death and agony and blood staining his hands, blood that he couldn't wash because there was simply no water that could carry away the memories.

Now he's just serene.

Kelsier is a force of nature that cannot be contained in his own body. His thoughts always go faster than his lips; the words slipping out half-spoken, the sound crashing against his teeth and his tongue and with a mixture of accents, from every skaa location he went to before returning to his beloved Luthadel.

Everyone always sees him as a kind of savior, a prophet came to earth who symbolizes survival despite everything. His scars are a mark of pride, which he displays with satisfaction as a trophy of coming out of the Wells of Hathsin.

Dockson has learned to see beyond the mask, beyond the bombastic words and rehearsed movements and smirks. He can see his face - an image of intrinsic beauty, a work of art that is insultingly pretty in spite of everything; and despite that, his eyes are sad.

Kelsier looks for someone in the crowds, among hundreds of skaa faces, someone who is no longer there. Dockson doesn't have to be a genius to know he's looking for Mare. He has heard many stories about her, although most whispered by members of the group of thieves that Kelsier leads.

She was a skaa woman. She was stubborn and precious, and the only reason Kelsier considered settling down. She betrayed him at the last second, causing them to get locked together in the Wells. She died in front of Kelsier, making him break down and his Allomantic powers to appear.

He's still looking for her. He still mentions her, as if she's as sacred as the Lord Ruler. As if her memory deserves to be held so dearly by Kelsier. As if she hadn't triggered all of this, as if Kelsier wasn't broken on the outside, and a little bit on the inside too, because of her.

Dockson is a practical man, and he is also very smart. So when he hears Mare's name from his lips, and feels the urge to smash the desk that Kelsier has so kindly given him, he becomes suspicious. He wants to break the leather notebook, and the pens, and explode the glass vial of ink. He wants to make noise, enough so that the way he pronounces her name (with love and affection, as if he doesn't care at all about her betrayal) is no longer heard.

In the silence of the night, with only the mists as his company and the voices of Kelsier and Vin in the distance, he notices.

He is filthy jealous.

"Honestly, you Allomancers… don’t you ever worry about what you’re going to look like the day _after_ you get into one of these fights?" He sighs, feeling like the situation is getting over him. The girl Kelsier adopted is already causing trouble again; the bleeding cut on her cheek proves it.

"I was kind of focused on staying alive, Dox."

"He's just complaining because he’s worried about you," Kelsier says, the huge dumbass. Dockson can't get mad because he's right. He doesn't know what bothers him the most; that he's right, or that Kelsier knows him too well.

He heals Vin's wound, trying to keep his gaze from straying to Kelsier's face, his cheeks burning. Damn idiot.

The privilege of not being Allomantic is that Dockson has become used to being an observer. He cannot even suspect what metals are burning his companions, nor if they are trying to push or pull his emotions. But he does know when one of them is overexerting himself. Allomancy is not magic, although Kelsier always tries to pretend it is.

It is the same as with everything else. If a perfect balance is not maintained, everything moves off the natural axis, and the chaos is ensured.

So when Dockson hears Kelsier's slow, rhythmic footsteps outside the shelter door, he feels his eyes sting. _So he's been doing stupid things again._

The pewter hangover is somewhat different from the normal hangover produced by wine. Instead of disinhibiting the person, it just tires them out. In Kelsier's case, he makes him strangely clumsy and ungracious, words coming out slow and even having to pause his inspiring speeches to catch his breath.

He doesn't bother to look up to greet him. He doesn't want him to see his face, so then Kelsier couldn’t see how much it affects him to know that he has been playing with the limit of his body again, on a tightrope between life and death. He is angry, he is incredibly upset; but above all he is a practical man and does not have the privilege of being able to get angry with the leader of his crew. _It's not the right time_ , although he also doesn’t believe there will be one in the near future.

If he could, if he had the courage, he would close the leather notebook he has with a bang, then hit Kelsier on the forehead. He would hear him yell at him, and that would be when Dox would start complaining about the awful bruises and wounds that he probably would have under his clothes. Kelsier would smile, because that is how he cared about people, and he would tell him that everything was fine.

He does nothing. He only stays to listen to the chaos that Kelsier has created by destroying the wells of Hathsin, while the others flatter him.

Dockson would like what they have accomplished in that year was enough for Kelsier.

The shelter is silent when Dockson awakens. So silent, that he doubts he has even woken up. He doesn't know what makes him wake up; he has an oppressive feeling in his chest, as if a knife was being stabbed between his ribs.

As he sits on the bed, he notices it.

Dockson is a practical man with clear habits. His experience has taught him that privacy is a luxury even more valuable than gold, a luxury that he only enjoys since he met Kelsier. His door is always closed, not bolted or anything; only the door leaning lightly against its frame.

Apparently, even a Mistborn can't help but make noise when opening a door. The thought of him makes him giggle, but the mere idea of laughing makes him feel alienated, as if it belonged to a man other than him.

A man who has died a bit when he noticed the sunken gaze on Kelsier yesterday.

" _Lord_ Kelsier has bothered to visit his treasurer," he claims, the words coming out with more annoyance than he would have liked. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

He first hears the footsteps, and then sees Kelsier's body being illuminated by the moonlight coming through the window. The soft, bluish lighting makes his skin look sickly, his sad expression looking like a declaration for itself.

"You don't have to be like that, Dox," he huffs, and tries to smile but ends up forming a grimace that is nothing like his usual playful, jovial smile.

The footsteps echo in the silence, every second he gets closer to his body, and Dockson can already foresee that their bodies are clearly going to collide, like two carriages crossing a corner.

Kelsier leans against his bed. The mattress sags under his weight. Heat begins to emanate from his body, and Dockson really wants to get closer to him. But he keeps his hands at his sides, not quite sure how to proceed in this situation.

They remain silent. A cold wind comes in through the window; winter is imminent, and it is already making itself felt.

Like Kelsier's plans.

"I know, Kell. You don't have to pretend with me.”

Kelsier lets out a deep sigh, sounding like a giggle as well as a whimper. His whole body relaxes; his shoulders sag and his spine slightly curves. The movement causes his light blonde hair to move, the locks gleaming in the light. Dockson can't help but think that this might be the last time he sees Kelsier so vulnerable, the prophet mask falling and leaving only the Kelsier he has learned to know.

The Kelsier who wakes up in the morning looking miserable, the one who needs a couple of beers at night before he can sleep because when he closes his eyes all he can see is how Mare was killed. Because the scars healed, but not the memories, and on more than one occasion Dox has heard Kelsier wandering around the house, bare feet and shaking. He knows perfectly the expression of fatigue that he wears every day, which is already part of his face and that is why no one notices it but him.

Dockson can't help but to open his arms, and Kelsier flings himself into them, not caring that the impact pushes them both to the bed. Kelsier lets out a growl from his lips, which could have sounded both as a "I love you" and "I hate you." Dockson doesn’t want to have stupid illusions, because time is short and he does not have the privilege of time.

If Kelsier rejects him, he will continue his entire life reliving this moment.

So he doesn't say anything, he just hugs him closer to his chest, holding him while Kelsier starts crying and shaking and screaming a thousand unintelligible words. There’s one thing that is clear: Kelsier would like to be able to stay. He would like not to have to be the one to die for this revolution.

But the cards are already drawn, they have already been drawn for years and there is no going back. It is too late to look for any kind of substitute. Dockson wants to believe there are other options, but he can't think of any good enough to tell Kelsier.

Deep down, Dockson is saddened to know that while Kelsier doesn't want to die, he doesn't want to go on living without Mare either. There are no words for the pain he has endured, and if nothing in that year could convince him not to die, his words wouldn’t do it either.

When Kelsier falls asleep in his arms, overcome by anguish and crying, Dox lets his mind wander. Dockson is a practical man with firm decisions and feet on the ground. The weight of Kelsier's body on his does not change that fact, but increases it.

He couldn’t be the reason Kelsier wants to stay. He isn’t the reason Kelsier wants to stay. It’s a fact.

He smiles, because it is the only thing he can do, as the hours pass and consume what little time they have left together.

Kelsier's body lies deformed on the floor of the square. His face looks strangely peaceful, at least a lot more than he looked last night. His head is turned at an unnatural angle, his arms are soft and filling with blood. Red inks his skin, stains his scars, and Dockson can't help but think that the color doesn't suit him.

There are screams, many screams in the square. Vin begins the chaos, claiming from Kelsier's corpse that he shouldn't be dead. Dox feels the pain of her words, feels the anguish dig into his chest, but he's strangely calm.

He leads the other gang members out of the square, and even he has to lead Spook by the arm, pushing him away from the inquisitors who are chasing all skaa in sight. The weight of Spook's body forces him not to connect with what he feels, to put his feet on the ground and not think that he is leaving Kelsier behind.

He still feels Kelsier's gaze on him as he leaves the square.

_To work with me_ , Kelsier had said, _I only ask you to promise me one thing - to trust me._

The plan is clear. Organize the men to continue the rebellion. The most competent are sent to avoid looting in their food and water tanks, another group goes to the shelter where Kelsier kept all the weapons to deliver them to the skaa who know how to fight and lead.

He changes some points of Kelsier's original strategy, trying to make everything work out. He has to juggle between his previous plans, changing and making exact calculations with the riches so that it doesn't get out of hand.

His attention is focused on the next steps, and so he doesn't have to think about Kelsier. On _fucking dead and crazy Kelsier_.

He finishes writing down his next steps, raising his hand for the ink to dry. He stretches out his arm, feeling tired, and ends up bumping into a pile of notebooks that he always has at the edge of the desk. They all fall, causing a slight impact.

Dockson sighs heavily, getting up to arrange them back in their proper order. He is placing one on top of the other, in a more distant place than they were so as not to hit them again, when he reaches the leather notebook that Kelsier gave him.

It is not the same as before. The months of use have stained the leather, and he knows that it has the occasional stain between the sheets because of Kelsier's clumsiness, because he always wanted to read things as soon as possible and didn’t let the ink dry completely.

When he picks it up, a sheet of paper falls from among the sheets. Dockson reaches down to pick it up, when he recognizes Kelsier's hurried, cursive handwriting. He feels his legs give him away, and he slowly falls to the ground.

He doesn't want to touch that role. He doesn't want to read what Kelsier left him, because that would mean to accept his dead. It would also mean that he cared more than him that he used to show.

Hands shaking, he takes the paper. The sooner he can read it, the sooner he can go back to work. The paper is the same height as the pages of the notebook, and it appears to be a sheet that Kelsier himself tore to write on.

It says:

“ _To the most practical man I have ever met, Dox;_

_Don't forget to smile, I know that you are the one who most needs to hear that from me._

_And I'm sorry for all the pain I caused you. I know you love me just like I do, but time is short and I still don't know if I will survive the encounter with the Lord Ruler._

_Thank you for making my dreams come true_ "

From his throat comes out a kind of animal growl, a plaintive moan that represents everything he feels. He wants to go back in time, and have said something, or have been able to help Kelsier with his fight with the inquisitor. He wishes he could have been faster and thus the meeting with the Lord Ruler would never have happened.

But Dockson is only a practical man. He is neither Allomancer nor Mistborn, and that fact is what doomed them all.


End file.
